


At Sunset

by thesearchforbluejello



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e25 Resolutions, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 21:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12896766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesearchforbluejello/pseuds/thesearchforbluejello
Summary: Based on the prompt: "he/she is painted on my soul"





	At Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to eyetagonthebridge for the tumblr prompt: "he/she is painted on my soul" and Helen8462 for pointing out yesterday that every JC writer has to do a Resolutions fic at some point.
> 
> Also the hugest of thanks to my dude Thealorn for being my beta for the last paragraph. This isn't the "first" time we've worked together, and it won't be the last (even if you were distracted by pizza this time).

It's sunset on New Earth and the sky is violent. The sun is a slash of dark orange on the horizon, paling into shades of yellow, into green, into blue that darkens into black behind them.

The first few weeks, the nights were difficult. Each one was a reminder of one more day parted from the crew, proof that their journey had ground to a halt and left them caught in this cycle of sunsets. But now, each passing day wore away the despair a little more, the feeling of displacement ebbing slowly like the colors of the sky stretched out before them.

He hears her sigh beside him and looks over in surprise. She's looking at the horizon, seeming for all the world like she doesn't know he's watching her. Her hair is washed mahogany and red in the failing light and an unbidden feeling catches in his throat. These colors are painted on his soul. He feels the brushstroke like the cut of a knife, severing any intentions he had to ignore these feelings that have been welling up inside him like a dangerous spring. 

She gives up the pretense of ignoring him and turns. He smiles.

His eyes are dark and gentle, his skin bathed gold under the fading sky. She can't look away from him, no matter how desperate she is to maintain her meticulously crafted parameters. She'd known when she first set them that it was an exercise in futility. She'd known they couldn't last. Not here. Those boundaries evaporated, just now; they went to hell as soon as he looked at her, all black and gold in the dying light. Because these colors are painted on her soul and she will never wash them off. She'll never want to.


End file.
